A Thousand Miles Away
by TheSilentPen
Summary: 'You've ignored that attraction though. That almost magnetic pull at the little thread of fate connecting the two of you together.' A thin, crimson string of fate ties Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray together, even a thousand miles away. It always will. Slightly AU, Season 3.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, any of its characters, or the musical _Band Geeks_.

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**A/N**: So I recently did a little 'prompt me' on my Tumblr, because I have serious writer's block on _Just A Kiss_. People sent in prompts and from them, I chose one from a Tumblr user called **erato13** who made the following request: "_I saw something on my dash a while ago, something about the "Red String of Fate." It says that a piece of red string connects those who were meant to be together, er, soulmates I guess. Brittana has a fic based on this. If it's not too much trouble, could you do one for Faberry? Please :)"_

**Erato13,** this is my response to your prompt! I really hope you enjoy it. It's based on the song _A Thousand Miles Away_ from the musical _Band Geeks!_ by Tommy Newman (the main character expresses a wish to attend Juilliard and escape to New York from her small town).

Look out on my Tumblr page for more **prompt me** chances (link on my profile).

Please read and review! I would appreciate it!

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**A Thousand Miles Away**

_TheSilentPen_

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At the beginning of Senior year, New York seemed so far away. You couldn't count the number of months till you moved into your college dorm on your fingers. You couldn't even _imagine _moving into your dorm, let alone standing in the middle of Broadway, staring up at the magnificent show signs filling the dark of the night with their glowing brilliance.

But Senior year passed in a flash in all its dramatic glory.

You start off the year hand-in-hand with Finn, hopeful that _maybe_ this year New Directions would capture that elusive Nationals position that's escaped your desperate fingers for three years.

Everyone returns from summer, still the same as the last year—hateful, spiteful, and ever envious of your talent.

Everyone except for Quinn Fabray.

You've never had much of a cordial relationship with pretty, perfect Quinn. You're not 'good enough for her' (or maybe _she's_ just too small for your dreams). You've tried so hard the last two years to extend a hand in a timid offer of companionship, but she stubbornly shoves the offers aside and aims to kill. She's ever at your throat, scratching and biting stubbornly at your jugular.

But though the two of you may clash at times and Quinn's _never_ been outwardly kind to you (other than the occasional acknowledgement of your singing prowess in Glee), there's still something that connects the two of you. Something unspoken.

A sort of dangerous, masochistic attraction (that's the only word that you can really _think_ of, given the fact that no matter _how_ many times Quinn kicks you down, you get up and return to trying to win her friendship—if your antagonistic relationship can be _called_ that) that makes you strive to catch her attention.

A sort of attraction that made you notice how pretty dark, emerald and amber eyes could be when a smile crossed rosy, red lips. An attraction that made you aim to help Quinn monetarily through Puck during her pregnancy. That made you recall the _exact_ flower and shade of color to match the light shades of bottle green shards in those pretty eyes.

That made you tell her that she was "the prettiest girl you'd ever seen."

That she was _so much more_ than that.

You've ignored that attraction though. That almost magnetic pull at the little thread of fate connecting the two of you together. You've fought it, running away from it _screaming_. The last thing _you _need is to be tethered to Quinn Fabray, your tormenter, for the rest of your life.

Quinn lingers at the back of your mind the entire summer, through shopping trips with Kurt and lazy afternoons spent with Finn. She's always there, on the fringe of your consciousness, ever in mind, ever out of sight.

Until the first day of senior year.

Quinn strides through the cheap, red painted doors of McKinley High, swathed in a dark, torn black shirt with 'Hell is So Hot Right Now' emblazoned across the front, with a long, mutilated skirt sitting low against her hips. A nose ring glinted against her pale skin and a tattoo of Ryan Seacrest ('who the _fuck_ gets a Ryan Seacrest tattoo?' You remember thinking idly to yourself) against her back, and choppy, Pepto Bismol pink hair stark against the grungy gray halls.

This isn't pretty, perfect, blonde Quinn Fabray anymore.

This is someone entirely different.

And as this new Quinn Fabray passes you in the hall, she does not spare a single glance in your direction, nor acknowledge you in any way.

It alarms you.

At the end of last year, you'd thought that you at least avoided ending your acquaintance on a sour note (aka, not dead, dying, or verbally ripped limb from limb by her sharp tongue).

You never spoke much to her, but you managed to give her a cordial nod in the halls as you pass or throw her a tentative smile in response to stone-eyed stares.

Quinn had always acknowledged those little gestures with a brief look in your direction or even the smallest smile. Sometimes even a wave, if Quinn felt particularly generous that day.

But she's never… _ignored _you.

You confront her beneath the bleachers after she quits Glee, begging her to return. It's the first time she's _really_ looked at you this year. The first time she's bothered to treat you as if you exist. And when she does, she looks at you so intently, with such burning intensity that it almost makes you want to drop your gaze to the floor.

But you power on, offering her support and, once more, your (most likely unwanted) friendship.

As you leave, you try to erase the almost _warm_, melancholy look in her eyes. You put her out of mind and prepare.

After all, at least you _tried_.

You focus on college and your future instead.

Your plans to apply to Juilliard are swayed as Ms. Pillsbury tells you that _no,_ Juilliard does _not_ have a Musical Theatre program like you initially hoped it would. Instead, the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts becomes your 'reach for' goal (though that didn't stop you from filling out an application for Juilliard on the side _despite_ its lack of Musical theatre).

Time passes so swiftly after your plans are locked into place.

Brittany, Santana, and Mercedes leave to form the Troubletones, Blaine becomes your Tony in West Side Story, you dominate Sectionals and Regionals and make the steady creep toward Nationals. Mr. Schue finally decides to tie the knot with Ms. Pillsbury.

And Quinn comes back.

She comes back, and somewhere along the line (you don't exactly remember _how_ or _why_) the two of you become the best of friends.

She saves you from making the disastrous error of giving Finn your virginity ("what if he's _not_ the one for you and you end up regretting it someday when you give it to the person you actually love," she stated wisely with a wry little smile on your face, "that'd be awfully big regret.") during the West Side Story debacle. Helps you fill out the applications for NYADA, NYU, Vasser, UCLA, and Juilliard.

There never really seems to be a time when the two of you are separate, whether its studying for APs, working on essays, giving each other advice ("Quinn, I don't think it'd be rather smart for you to try to get back with Noah this late in the game, he'd only act as an anchor in your otherwise marvelous future"), or sometimes just _talking _(which is incredible… you've never really had a _girl_ you could just _talk_ with). Quinn is so deeply ingrained in your life, that sometimes it's hard to think of a moment when she _wasn't_ there.

And that annoying little tug at your chest? It's gotten stronger, fastened itself around your heart and tied a crimson string about it, forming a steadfast connection between you and Quinn.

Ambiguous, easy to ignore feelings strengthen to a pounding ache in your chest.

You know what _this_ is. This feeling. This _agony_.

It's something you _used_ to feel with Finn, yet something different.

This feeling is not artificial, not forced in nature. You don't feel honor bound to it, like it was a chore to keep it from dying or fading in the slightest.

This feeling is pulsing, red hot glow set _so_ deep into your chest... into your _heart_. It scares you with its intensity, with its persistence.

Had you been three years younger, you might have _jumped_ to express this feeling. To have confessed this _love_ that you have.

But now, three years older, wiser, and more conscious of emotional turmoil, you run away from it just like you always seem to do when _anything _has to do with Quinn Fabray.

You run away from it and jump headlong into Finn's arms. Throw yourself into a relationship that you've ignored for months and run with it.

Because this feeling is _dangerous_.

It could destroy your friendship, all the smiles and laughter, all of the work you've invested in just getting Quinn to _speak_ to you.

It could ruin _everything_.

And even though you've tried so _hard_ not to ruin it, you end up destroying it anyway.

You spend less and less time with Quinn and invest more time in Finn and his childish little whines.

You pass each other in the hall, your eyes turned shamefully toward the ground as her hurt hazel eyes bear into you.

By the time Nationals rolls around, you don't _ever_ remember being friends with Quinn.

All you know is _Finn_, all you care about is _Finn_, and your future revolves around _Finn_.

He talks of California, of moving there to start a new business cleaning _pools_ whilst you attend a community college wherever you might live. He speaks of _maybe_ going to New York, or putting off your schooling for a year.

Part of you _screams_ "_no_! I _can't_ wait! I've wanted this since I was a little girl, I _have_ something that _you—that everyone—_doesn't have!" It pounds its fists against the cages of your mind, begging to be released, to be given voice. It _cries_.

And you?

You remain voiceless, acceding to Finn's every wish.

You've lost yourself.

It's no surprise when Finn proposes marriage and you simply nod your head in agreement. It's no surprise that you've given in and settled for less.

You did it for _Quinn_, after all. For your friendship.

The friendship _you don't have any more_.

That you think you've lost.

But that Quinn won't let slip away.

She confronts you several days before the wedding, determination steady in her eyes.

She begs you to reconsider, to think about what _you_ want instead of what _Finn_ wants.

"Finn and I…" you feel your jaw move, "I _know_ we can grow together!"

"Rachel, the two of you are a _lovely_ couple," you can hear her struggle against the word, fight back her own personal convictions to speak gently to you, "but if you want to have a future, you're going to have to say goodbye."

You swallow your words as Quinn takes your hands in hers, grasping them determinedly between pale, smooth digits. The string tugs at your heart, chocolate brown eyes looking up at soft hazel.

"If we were _ever _friends," she says softly, "if we were _ever_ friends, _please_ just do this for me. _Please_ don't marry him. _Please_ go to New York and be happy."

You look at the desperate, earnest look in her eyes, at the conviction there….

And you break.

Because she _was_ your friend. Because you feel this way about her.

Because you _can't_ go through with it, no matter how much you've lost of yourself the last few months.

In the next few weeks, you work up the courage to stop the wedding. Your strength returns to you as you receive acceptances from Juilliard, NYU, and NYADA several weeks before sectionals. You hide the envelopes away after signing the class acceptance to Juilliard and sending it off, along with an appeal to the summer program.

You break off the wedding after Nationals, right before summer program starts in New York and a week before graduation.

Finn is furious that you've done this to him, behind the curtains, he throws chairs around, kicking and screaming about your 'betrayal.' It pains you to see him so _hurt_, but you know that it's for the best.

You stopped loving him a long time ago.

The next day, early in the morning and without a word to your classmates, you board a plane bound for New York, dressed in torn up jeans, a faux leather jacket, a t-shirt, a bag in your hand, an empty ring finger, and your dreams in your back pocket.

The city looms high above you, noisy and rowdy in its hustle and bustle. People cross busy intersections with their coffee steaming in their hand, street musicians litter the sidewalk performing their craft, and the alien smell of too-many-types-of-food filters into your nostrils.

Your dorm room isn't great. Frankly it's small, freezing, and you can hear people laying on the horn outside.

But it's home, and it's yours, and you're one step closer to _your_ dream.

Your diploma arrives, bent around the edges two weeks after the graduation ceremony. You hold the little piece of paper in your hands, staring at it, thinking of Lima.

You haven't spoken to anyone since you broke it off. Since you won Nationals. You'd left your phone off, unwilling to recall the last month of your life in all its confused, messy glory.

Unwilling to admit that the crimson string connecting you and Quinn stretches taut to the point of breaking across the shaky distance.

And it scares you, because you've never felt so disconnected from her in your life.

Now you have _no choice_ but to cope with the distance between you, and it frightens you.

The days slowly creep by, and with each passing moment, you regain a bit of Rachel Berry: the ambitious Broadway ingénue.

Vocal lessons re-hone the pit perfect edge of your voice, grown musty with disuse. Dancing helps retrain your muscles, piano helps bring back the confidence and knowledge of scales lost over months without practice.

By the time the school year starts, you're every bit as much a threat as you were at the beginning of your Senior year and every bit as confident you were your Sophomore year before Finn came into your life.

You _thrive_ here in New York, with its bustling subways, wonderful take out, and yammering crowds. You know Broadway by heart, know the show schedule. Know your favorite coffee shops, _where_ to get a killer meal on a budget.

Best of all, you feel like you know _yourself_ and what you want for the first time in a long time.

Your academic life is a struggle and success. Your teachers are harsh on you, pushing you to the point of exhaustion. Your classmates are every bit as good as you and some are even _better _than you. They are complimented and rewarded while you struggle to keep your head above water.

But you don't get discouraged.

You _relish_ the challenge.

You push yourself, learn your limitations, then fight to surpass them. You push past what you _think_ is possible for yourself.

What you used to be.

You realize that _this_ is what you wanted… this is what you left Lima for.

Sometimes, you can't believe that you almost _married_ Finn Hudson. That you almost tied yourself to someone that you were not so wholly sure you were in love with.

It hadn't been that Finn wasn't good enough. He was a kind soul with a genuinely sweet disposition. His heart always seemed to be in the right place, though he was often misguided. And though he never truly _understood_ any of your conversations, he made an earnest effort to listen and fulfill any of your wishes.

Finn Hudson would have made a good husband for _any_ sweet, pretty little hometown girl wanting to start a family, settle down, and live in a sleepy little suburb in some nameless town in the American Midwest.

But you are _not_ a hometown girl, you've _never_ been.

You've always been bigger than Lima, Ohio and its tiny, sleepy little doldrums. Always looking into the future, eyes on the shining stage lights of Broadway and mind fixed on finding a way to get there.

It wasn't that Finn wasn't good enough.

It was just that your dreams _eclipsed_ Finn and all of the promises of a steady, stable future that came with him.

Still, there has been nobody since Finn.

Nobody since Lima.

Not for lack of having anyone. Several freshmen and sophomores have approached you on more than one occasion for a date (a mixture of men and women), and though you're flattered, you turn all of them down.

There's no connection.

There's no little crimson string tugging at your chest.

There's no blade to dislodge the one still about your heart.

Because though you might have left Lima in the rearview mirror, you haven't left Quinn there with it.

Every time you pick up the phone to call her, to explain, your fingers freeze against the buttons and your jaw locks.

There's no explanation you can give that will make your leaving any less selfish.

Any less sudden or heartless.

You didn't tell anyone where you went.

You didn't answer any of the messages crammed into your phone's memory the day after you turn it on. You didn't answer any of the Facebook messages Finn had angrily sent you moments, days, and weeks after your break up.

But you know Quinn is doing well.

That she's a drama major at Yale, that she's flourishing in the New Haven atmosphere…

And that she has a _girlfriend_.

The last had come as a bit of a shock to you.

You never saw Quinn as…

As well… _gay_.

To you, she'd been as straight as an arrow, what with her boyfriends and her reputation as the heartbreaker of McKinley High.

But there, on the screen, in black text, is written '_In a relationship with Sarah Greenwell,' _complete with photos of Quinn's arms wrapped about a smiling, petite young woman.

It breaks your heart and makes the little connection between the two of you slacken ever so slightly.

Hadn't you given up your friendship because you thought Quinn _wasn't_ like you?

Was _incapable_ of loving you?

You watch Quinn be happy without you. Watch her go home with Sarah to LA during the holidays, watch them watch movies together, watch them fight and make up.

And every day, your heart breaks a little more and another tendril of the string loosens about your heart.

You drown out the sorrow by burying yourself in your studies. You start auditioning for major roles, to be cutthroat in the competition.

To try _anything_ to get your mind off of Quinn, her perfect life at her Ivy League school with her _perfect_ girlfriend.

Your work pays off when you land a role in a new, off Broadway musical called '_Spring Awakening.'_

You're cast as the female lead alongside Jesse St. James (who turns out, ironically, to be 100% gay) and start work on the project between classes. The musical consumes your life.

You don't touch your Facebook account.

The months fly by, and suddenly it's opening night.

You stand, center stage, behind the closed curtain, breathing in and out. Jesse presses a 'good luck' kiss against the crown of your head as the countdown to curtain trickles by. You immerse yourself in Wendla's agony, in her confusion, and make it your own.

As the curtain lifts, you belt out your emotions, staring into the crowd and pleading for understanding.

Your eyes swivel across the attentive eyes of your audience, freezing as they land on deep amber in the first row.

The string in your chest tightens against your will, squeezing your heart. Nausea attacks the pit of your stomach as a cocktail of confusing emotions flood your stomach.

Your voice wavers ever so slightly on the edge as you lock eyes with Quinn Fabray from the stage, desperate to understand.

'_Why_ is she here?'

'_Where_ is Sarah?' You think to yourself as you scan the seats about Quinn.

What is going _on?_

You shake yourself. This is your big night. Quinn Fabray can't ruin it.

It's everything you worked for since you were a freshman.

Since you were a child.

You make it through the rest of the song unscathed, forcing yourself to look away from Quinn's sharp eyes.

For the rest of the musical, you stare into the audience, toward the back rows, away from Quinn. You can feel her staring at you, begging you to look at her, but you ignore the desire to look. Ignore it till after the show.

After the final curtain call, you run back to your room, slamming the door behind you, your heart pounding wildly beneath your ribs. You breathe in and out shakily, regulating your breathing, running your shaking fingers through your hair.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to throw on jeans, a t-shirt, your heavy winter coat, and a beret before a small knock strikes the chipped mahogany of your door.

You close your eyes, putting your hand to the knob slowly, breathing deeply before gently pulling the door open.

Quinn Fabray is every bit as beautiful as you remember her.

Her hair is cut short, jaggedly feathering her neck, shining bright gold in the dim lighting of the room. Her features are as regal as you remember them, yet slightly more chiseled.

Her eyes are a soft green, tinged with a hint of melancholy as she stares apprehensively at you, a small, unsure smile on her lips.

She looks comfortable in black skinny jeans, a dark green blouse, and a fur lined leather jacket, hands resting in her pockets and slim frame stiff with uncertainty.

"Rachel," your name is shy on her lips, her voice every bit as smoky and spine tingling as you remember.

"Quinn," you reply, trying to hide the tremor in your voice.

She fidgets around, eyes flickering to the ground as she continues. "…You were wonderful tonight… I…" She fights to find the right words. "…I really enjoyed it."

"What are you doing here?" you ask bluntly. God, you don't want to come across as a brute, but you know that you _have_ to know.

Her jaw works for a moment before she looks about the hall, then back at you. "…Can we talk about this inside, please?"

You stiffen a little before moving slowly out of the way, admitting her into the room. She brushes past you, a warm thumb sliding against your stomach as you shiver. The string constricts painfully.

The two of you are silent for a long moment, waiting for the other to make the first move. You scuff your shoes against the carpet, before looking up.

"What do you want to ask me?" you can sense the questions on her tongue.

"_Where _did you go?" she asks, desperate.

And you tell her. You tell her how you listened to her advice, how you _really_ couldn't marry Finn. How you left Lima the very next day to make your dreams become a reality.

You tell her everything _except_ about your feelings.

And she shakes her head, accepting, and merely says, "we missed you."

The two of you sit down on the futon in your room, talking lowly over the last few years over steaming, mismatched mugs of coffee from the green room.

She tells you about Yale and its challenges. About finding herself through Yale's Counselor, about coming to the realization that she was gay, about Sarah…

"I never got to congratulate you," you say softly. "I'm glad that you were able to accept that about yourself. It couldn't have been easy, but I'm glad that you have Sarah to deal."

"She really helped me deal with everything," Quinn says, before smiling sadly. "But I'm afraid I don't have her anymore…"

"_What?"_ your mouth dries.

"We broke up about three months ago," Quinn says, suddenly interested in her coffee. "She just… she just wasn't the one."

"Oh," you swallow dryly. "Well… you'll find someone _someday_. You're wonderful, Quinn."

"How about you?" she smiles, putting the cup down on the modest coffee table. "Anyone new?"

"No," you say softly, "no one since Finn."

_'No one since __**you**__.'_

The two of you sit rather awkwardly for the next few minutes until Quinn tells you she has to go (something about a term paper due). You stand up and walk her to the door, numb.

Before she slips out, she throws her arms around you, holding onto her as though you might disappear. You tentatively return the hug, wrapping your arms solidly about her.

"Gosh Rach," she breathes against your ear, rocking you slowly. "I missed you so much."

Disconnecting, she pulls a slip of hard paper from the back of her pocket, pushing it slowly into your hands, squeezing them.

"It's a train pass between here and New Haven," Quinn murmured softly. "I really want us to keep in contact… so… I'll come see your city and you come see mine, alright?"

"Quinn…" your words die on your tongue. These train passes are _expensive_… you can't let her waste her money on you.

"Keep it," she pushes it gently to your chest. "I… we've gone two years without talking, Rachel. I don't want that to happen again, so… _please_ take it."

You accept the train pass with a nod, suddenly finding yourself in Quinn's arms once more as she squeezes the breath from you one last time before disappearing through the door with a whispered goodbye.

Over the next several weeks, you and Quinn take turns visiting each other in New Haven and New York respectively. You show each other your favorite coffee shops, your favorite movie theatres, and all your favorite takeout (in your case—Quinn seems to prefer to cook) restaurants.

You spend your time laughing, watching trashy tv, and offering each other advice regarding how to best survive college.

Weeks turns into months, months slowly extends into a year. A year of dancing around each other, of light flirting, and a year of solid happiness.

The string around your heart has retightened itself and is newly strengthened by time spent with Quinn. It closes the distance between you and Quinn, ties you together.

A year later, at a coffee shop in Times Square, you and Quinn sit across from each other, smiling brightly, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the fireplace.

Outside, the snow falls in a gentle, white powder, coating the sky scrapers a shining, multicolored sheet in the Technicolored lights in the square.

"Rachel…" Quinn's voice is as warm as melted chocolate against your ear. Her hand reaches out and grasps yours loosely, tan and pale digits tangling together.

Your eyes flicker to meet gentle hazel as a soft smile creases your lips. "Yes, Miss Fabray?"

"I'm really glad we're friends again," she says, reaching for your other hand. "I… you're my best friend, you know that, right?"

"And you're mine," you say easily. There's an apprehensiveness on her pretty face.

"We can talk to each other about anything, right?"

"Of course," you pause. "Quinn… what's wrong?"

"I…" She breathes in before continuing. "Senior year, when you left… I… I really missed you, you know?"

"And I-."

"No," Quinn shakes her head. "No… It… It felt like a part of myself was missing. And I just really couldn't find out why….

"At Yale, I tried to understand why I felt so empty… and that search led me to Sarah."

She holds your hands tightly, sensing the stiffness about your shoulders. "No, Rach… Listen…

"Sarah made me feel a little less lonely. She closed the gap… but only a tiny bit… just enough to find myself," Quinn's voice falls to a whisper. "Seeing you against closed it completely.

"You're so special to me, Rachel. I've always admired you, always thought you were such a special person," she smiles softly at you, lifting your hands to her mouth and kissing them softly, making you shiver. "You're strong… you've never given up, you always have the courage to go after what you want and not be sorry about it. I've always admired that about you…"

She looks up at you seriously, hazel eyes a stark green. "It's what I _love_ about you."

The air rushes from your lungs as surprise plunges into your chest.

What she _loves_ about you…?

Quinn studies you carefully before looking away, starting to pull her hands off yours. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to-."

Her words are muffled as your lips eclipse hers.

The kiss is soft and gentle, _exactly_ what you wish your first kiss should've been like. Quinn doesn't struggle or fumble to keep steady. Instead, her lips are solid against yours, stroking and caressing evenly.

It fizzles your senses and tugs at your heart. Her hands play against your neck as yours find their way to the jagged edges of feather soft blonde hair.

As she pulls away, you lick your lips gently, tasting the chocolate and mint of her hot chocolate. Her eyes darken slightly as she looks at you, hesitant.

You smile at her, grabbing her hand softly and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"You didn't expect me to love you too?" You 'tsk.' "You were a head cheerleader once upon a time, correct? Where's the confidence, Fabray?"

You see Quinn really _smile_ for the first time. It's a beautiful thing, tugging at the corners of her lips and revealing sparkling white teeth, eyes emerald with happiness.

Wordlessly, she grabs you by the front of your shirt, positively _smirking_.

"Oh, it's still _very_ much there, _Berry,_" she purrs, leaning in softly. She murmurs the next words against your lips. "Allow me to _show_ you."

And as she tugs on your shirt, pulling you to her, the red thread pulls with it.

The two of you will have to talk about a long distance relationship. About how this is going to work when the two of you are attending different universities in different states. About whether or not you'll be exclusive or whether or not you should have date calendars.

But that will come later. And for the first time, you're not worried about uncertainty.

Because even if the two of you are a thousand miles away from each other, you are joined by that single fragile piece of string, bridging across state lines, across lakes and streams, and surmounting all obstacles.

You always have been.

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**A/N: **The review box at the bottom is feeling a little lonely. How about you fill it with lovely words so it doesn't feel so alone? :) Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


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